


Weren't You Adored

by withdiamonds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-20
Updated: 2009-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows the way to Stanford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weren't You Adored

Dean eyed the pie poised on the counter under the glass cover, trying to see if he could tell what kind it was from across the diner. He thought it might be cherry, which wasn’t really his favorite, but that would be better than apple, anyway. He craned his neck a little farther, then tuned back into what his Dad was saying when John cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Hey, Dean. You with me, here?”

Dean nodded. It wasn't like he was missing out on any information vital to the hunt or anything. His dad was just bitching at him about his driving. John had insisted that they drive separately all the way from South Dakota to San Francisco, and although Dean knew why, it was still annoying. It meant twice the gas money, not to mention that Dad was never impressed with Dean’s driving if he had to spend all day observing it from an adjacent highway lane.

Dean didn’t want to hear it. He felt edgy and like his skin was too tight and he really wasn't in the mood.

“Dude, I never had her above 80 all day,” he said irritably, as close to snapping at John as he ever came.

They’d stopped to eat at one of the crappiest diners Dean had ever seen, which was saying something, somewhere between Salt Lake City and Provo. Twelve hours on the road today, twelve tomorrow. Dean loved his baby, loved driving her down the highway with the wind in his hair and his tunes blasting, but when he and John split up to go on separate hunts he missed having someone to talk to. And although this hunt was a shared job, Dean was bored anyway.

He didn't like to admit it, but Dean had never gotten used to the silence of the road without Sammy. It had been nearly a year and that silence could sometimes still be as oppressive as it was the first week after Sam left. The week John spent with his eyes burning with anger and fear and his jaw clenched tightly shut. It took him and Dean what seemed like forever to make noise again, grunts of this okay? and pull in over there as they made their way from motel to diner to highway and back again.

John went after his dried-up meatloaf with the edge of his fork as he frowned at Dean. “There’s no reason to risk a speeding ticket just because you can’t keep the lead out of your foot.” Implacable, _John Winchester has spoken_ pronouncement. Dean gritted his teeth.

“You’re the one who’s in such a big hurry,” he said, then stuffed a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth to keep himself from saying anything more.

He and John didn't usually go at each other like this. They normally functioned as a team, a well-oiled machine, perfectly in sync with each other - hell, it went with the job. The way Dean looked at it, the two of them had had each others' backs since he was four years old and it showed.

Dean knew what this was about, and it wasn’t about Bobby calling John an asshole yesterday and telling him that he could get the hell out of his house if he was going to be as stubborn as a mule, thinking he knew more about poltergeists than Bobby did, and it wasn’t about Dean’s driving or the crappy meatloaf or the unidentifiable pie.

The closer they got to San Francisco, and Palo Alto, the less patience they had with each other.

This was about Sam.

Sam, who was only a day's drive away. Dean's obstinate little brother, who was obviously trying to out-stubborn their father in the non-communication department. Dean was just glad he wasn't being asked to put down money on who the eventual winner of that little contest was going to be. He'd be hard-pressed to pick between their two immovable asses.

John narrowed his eyes and glared across the table. Dean tried to keep his face neutral as he chewed, which wasn't easy given the lumpy, flavorless mashed potatoes he had to work with. After a minute, John's shoulders relaxed and he said, "What the hell kind of pie do you think that is over there," jerking his head towards the counter.

Dean shrugged and swallowed. "Fuck if I can tell from here." He squinted over at the pie, then shook his head. "Nope, no idea," he said, chancing a grin. John's lips twitched and they were okay again.

The pie turned out to be some kind of local berry and it was pretty much the best pie Dean had ever tasted.

The poltergeist, on the other hand, was a malicious son-of-a-bitch, Bobby had been right about that. But with near-death experiences came, well, experience, and now John and Dean both knew more about the nasty mothers than they did before. Put one in the Winchester win column.

Dean smoothed down the last piece of tape on the dressing that covered John's right upper arm and surveyed his work critically. It would hold. "You gonna be okay to drive?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," John said. "I thought we'd go see Caleb for a few days. He's got a line on a werewolf in Indianapolis. I'll meet you there." He paused, not meeting Dean's eyes, then added, "Don't worry if I'm a few hours behind you."

Dean nodded, knowing that was coming. "Yes, sir." He gave a final pat to John's arm and pulled his jacket on, grimacing as his sore ribs protested. He picked up his duffel and said, going for casual, "See you there."

"Be careful," John said as he climbed into his truck. Dean rolled his eyes and waved. He waited until his father was out of sight, then turned down the road in the opposite direction.

He didn't need John to show him how to get to Palo Alto.


End file.
